()■ 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap. Copyright No. 

ShelLiX _g 35 r6 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 



FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER 



FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER 

BEING 

STANFORD RHYMES 

BY 

CAROLUS AGER 

(CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD, '95) 



Rkpbinted from the Student Publications, with Sundry 

Truthful Picturings, by Donald Hume Fry, '95, 

AND AN Apology, by David Starr Jordan 



Ubfrb lEMtion 



San Francisco 
1899 



4112 

TWO COPIES HSCEIVKO, 

I?t1 SECOND COPY. 



Copyright, 1896^ by William Doxey 
Copyright, 1899, by Charles K. Field 



c\\ 



Press of C. A. Murdock & Co. 



x 




This little book ynay perhaps he dear 

To some who tenderly recall 
The Stanford grapes, and the Mayfield beer 

And the girls of Bohle Hall. 



Four of the verses printed in the , 
and second, editions of this book are 
omitted in the third, and fifteen of those 
here printed are not included in the 
preceding editions. 



FOREWORD TO THE THIRD EDITION. 

THESE verses, reminiscent of the early years of 
Stanford University, come into a third edition 
to the music of hammer and saw and the ring of chisel 
upon yellow stone. The new roofs "rim the blue" 
far above the low red line of the old Quad, the great 
Arch towers higher still, and the Chapel lifts itself, 
stone by stone, toward its ideal,— little more than 
an uncertain dream when these rhymes were first 
put together in memory of the days of hope. 

Yet, low-lying before the rising Chapel, dingy, to 
be sure, but still visible on twilight evenings, glim- 
mers the '95 numeral in hasty paint, and somewhere 
beside a giant heap of earth where the feet of the 
Science Buildings are sinking into the Campus, a 
little old tree slants up with a bronze plate upon its 
breast. 

So, perhaps, in the Club-room at Encina and 
around fraternity firesides, away from the noise 
and clamor of the broad daylight, these quiet voices 
of the early morning may not be altogether lost. 



DEDICATION. 

My four-leaved clover groweth not 

Upon Parnassus steep. 
But on the Palo Alto hills 

Where Stayiford poppies sleep; 

And though these song-weeds cluster not 

Beside the Muses'' well, 
The Spring-filled Lagunita Lake 

Perchance may do as well; 

No brilliant bloom, biit rooted deep 

In Stanford loyalty. 
Their still small voice may speak to those 

Who share that love with me. 

Who once within a cloistered place 

Were college mates of mine. 
In clover there for four sweet years 

That bore the stamp divine; 

Then, though this lyre have but two strings, 

One Love, the other Beer, 
I calmly dedicate them both 

To every Pioneer. 




A FELLOW ean be young but once. So it is with 
a university. It is a royal experience when 
one's own youtli and that of his university come 
together. All the more glorious is it when, with 
all this, one has the gift of song, if he does not 
take it too seriously, and when the university has 
the charui of beauty and the glow of hope. The 
highest value of tradition lies in the making of it, 
and the rhymes of Carolus Ager ai*e part of the 
traditions of Leland Stanford Junior University. 
To those of us who were part of the four pre- 
cious pioneer years of the university, these rhymes 
have a value beyond that given by any literary 
11 



APOLOGY. 

cleverness they may possess. They are "original 
documents" in our academic history. Each one 
recalls a day which the now sober and decorous 
University will never see again. And it may be in 
place to remind the still more sober and decorous 
public, to whom these rhymes are not addressed, 
that they are not to be taken too literally. Love 
and wine in youth are metaphors only. " The color 
of life is red," cardinal red, according to our theory, 
and the Zinfandel has the same color. The red 
wine of these rhymes Is not Zinfandel; it contains 
no alcohol, nor has it ever crossed " the Mayfield 
oar." It is the flow of young life. So, too, with 
Love. It is not the serious, fateful thing it seems, 
"once you have come to forty years." It is a 
symbol only, the emblem of " the great thing 
always to come, who knows ? " But those who 
have been once young understand all this, and the 
others, let us hope, will never hear of Carolus 
Ager. 



AOy^s,_^.„C.,ji^ viJiZX-Av. 



12 



SUMMARY. 

He tvho was here with us is now no more; 

Across the river he has wandered far ; 
I wonder if upon the other shore 

We'll meet again as at the Mayfleld bar. 

—From the Sequoia. 




CONTENTS 

Page 
AROUND THE QUAD: 

Coming Thro' the Quad 23 

(The Pioneer Verse.) 

The Days of '91 . . . . . . .24 

Evening on the Campus 26 

A Lament for the Dear Departed . . 28 

The Rivals . . 30 

A Toast 33 

Honor Among Thieves 34 

The Pioneers 36 

"The Heavens are Telling" . . .39 

A Hero 40 

MizPAH 42 

A Thanksgiving Toast . . . . . 44 

To Walter Camp 45 

15 



CONTENTS. 

A Question of Color 46 

A Song in Season 47 

"GuTER Alter Wein" 48 

Drinking Song 50 

False Lights 53 

My Little Mayfield Girl . . . .54 

At Mayfield 56 

Relapse 57 

Afterward 58 

The President 60 

Barbara's Lullaby 61 

Tribute . . .62 

A Friend in Need 64 

The Secret of Two 68 

A Song for Hilda 69 

The Prof's Little Girl 70 

16 



contents. 
Out of the Mouths of Babes . . .72 
The Last Good-By . . . . . .74 

THE SOBER SIDE: 

In Memory of Richakd Alerecht . . 79 

Reunion 80 

In Geology Hour 82 

(By courtesy of Overland Monthly.') 

In Memory of Louis Donald McLaine . 84 

Compensation 86 

Leland Stanford 88 

To Mrs. Stanford 90 

Company K, 1st Cal., U. S. Y. . . . 92 

At Nagasaki 94 

God's Acre 96 

A Memory 98 

17 



CONTENTS. 

IN JOSHING MOOD: 

Beware! 101 

The BALiiAD op Woodside Field . . .102 

Persona Non Grata 110 

In the Cold, Cold World . . . .112 
An Old Acquaintance 114 

CO-EDUCATION: 

The Grasshoppers 117 

Danger! . .118 

At Study-Time 120 

Two Windows 121 

The Ideal Co-Ed 122 

Strategy 124 

Metamorphosis 125 

In the Spider's Web 126 

18 



contexts. 

Emancipation 128 

Warning 130 

Fate 131 

Four Valentines 132 

Lorelei 134 

Q. E. D 136 

When We Come Back No More . . .137 



19 



I made myself a poet in the place, 

And blithely sang of college life and ivays. 
The pleasure of the undergraduate pace, 

And all the joy between the holidays; 
No care spoke ever in Tny careless song, 

From graver strains I kept my pipe apart, 
And played the upper notes; ah, was it wrong 

To dream my music reached the student heart? 

Upon a day one said, with kind intent: 

" Why sing forever of these trivial things 
For better music was your piping meant; 

Will you confess such earth-restricted wings f 
Strike some Byronic chord, sublime and deep. 

Find in ethereal flight the upper air, 
And speak to us some word that we may keep 

Within our hearts and ever treasure there!'''' 

Then, with one pang for wasted hours, I gave 

Another meaning to my faltering lay, 
And sang of Life and Pain, an early grave, 

Hope and Despair, and Love that lives alway ; 
But when I listened for an echoing heart, 

I saw all other lips with laughter curl. 
And heard them whisper jestingly apart, 

'■''He^s got it bad, poor fool ; we know the girl!^^ 



20 



AROUND THE QUAD, 




COMING THRO' THE QUAD. 

(the pioneer verse.) 

F a body meet a body 

Coming thro' the Quad, — 
If a body see a body, 
Can't a body nod? 
Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, 
E'en tho' seeking knowledge; 
Stanford girls are much like those 
In any other college. 

If a body meet a body 

On the cement walk, — 
If a body greet a body, 

Can't she stop and talk? 
Sweeter far is conversation 

In the open air 
Than on Fridays, in the parlor, 

When the matron 's there ! 




THE DAYS OF '91, 

EAR chum of mine, do you recall, 
When college had begun, 

The gladness of that glorious fall, 
And how we spent the "mon " ? 

The days of cheer, the days of beer, 
The days of '91. 



Dear maid of mine, do you recall. 
When first my heart you won. 

There were no lights in Roble Hall, 
But, oh, such loads of fun? 

The days of dark, the days of spark. 
The days of '91. 

Dear major prof, do you recall 

The night, at set of sun, 
We met, when each had made his haul 

Where vineyard pathways run? 

24 



THE DAYS OF '91. 

The days of scrapes, the days of grapes, 
The days of '91. 

Dear Class of '95, when all 

The four years' thread is spun, 

The Freshman follies we recall 
We would not have undone; 

Those days when youth came seeking truth. 
The days of '91. 



25 




EVENING ON THE CAMPUS. 

EHiND a screen of western hills 

The sunset color fades to night; 
Along the arching corridors 

Long shadows steal with footsteps 
light. 
The banners of the day are furled; 

Thro' darkening space the twilight creeps 
And smooths the forehead of the world 
Until he sleeps. 

The oak-trees closer draw their hoods; 

A bird, belated, wings his dim, 
Uncertain flight, and far above 

A star looks down and laughs at him; 
The sky and mountains melt in one; 

Tall gum-trees range their ranks around; 
The white walk marks its length upon 
The velvet ground. 



EVENING ON THE CAMPUS. 

From out the dusk the chimney points, 
Like guiding finger to the skies; 

Down drops the curtain of the night, 
And all the plain in darkness lies, 

When, as the college buildings seem 
To lose their form in shapeless mass. 

The lights shine out as poppies gleam 
Amid the grass. 



27 




A LAMENT FOR THE DEAR DEPARTED. 

IS step is gentle, his voice is low, 
His manner meek as Moses; 
I watch him softly come and go, 
At work about the room, and know 
His murmured words obeisance show, 
Each move his awe discloses. 

My rugs need shaking much, but he 
Perhaps has not been taught it, 

And so, one morning, pleasantly 

I say this must no longer be, — 

And find, alas! his awe of me 
Is not the thing I thought it. 

Though this has failed, I bring to mind 

The good that coin can do one; 
And so a hoarded " half " I find. 
And hand him it, with aspect kind, 

28 



A LAMENT FOR THE DEAR DEPARTED. 

And, by his dazzling smile made blind, 
Fancy my way the true one. 

Another Jap this morning came 

To fix my room up neatly; 
And I presume it were a shame 
To think the vanished one to blame. 
Because — a curse upon his name! — 
He shook the room completely. 



29 



THE RIVALS. 




HERE 's such a racket round my 
room! 
The fellow under me 
Has frequent fits of frightful 
gloom, 
In which condition he 
Upon a 'cello wails as though 
It were the voice of one below 
Where souls in torment be. 



A man who plays the cornet shrill 

Is quartered overhead; 
Its strident voice is never still, — 

I swear he plays in bed; 
But when he tackles "Robin Hood, 
And plays it like a dirge, I would 

That one of us were dead! 



30 



THE RIVALS. 

There is a poor asthmatic flute 

That wheezes on my left. 
If some fine day the heartless brute 

Should be of it bereft, 
The record-angel, I dare think. 
Would write me up in colored ink, 

And love me for the theft. 

A singer dwells upon my right, 

Last but by no means least. 
Who celebrates in song each night 

Some sweetheart now deceased; 
And though his grief may be profound, 
His upper notes, it seems, would sound 

More musical if greased. 

What have I done, that these should join 

To make my fortune worse? 
Is there no way, for love or coin. 

To rid me of the curse? 
The happiest day that dawns for me 

31 



THE RIVALS. 

Shall be the one on which I see 
The noisy flock disperse; 

For though within my room alone 
For hours I have stayed 

And practiced on my big trombone, 
It 's lost time, I 'm afraid, — 

The racket round my room is such 

I really cannot tell how much 
Improvement I have made. 




A TOAST. 

Here's to the Freshman, all verdant 
and gay, 
Here 's to the Soph and his folly, 
Here 's to the Senior afraid of next 
May, 

And here 's to the Junior so jolly; 
Let the toast pass, 
Drink to the Class, — 
Her glory shall be our excuse for the glass. 

Here's to the Class that is leader in all, — 
Long may she prosper and thrive, boys! 
Then fill up your glasses and drink at my call 
The glary of old Ninety-five, boys; 
Let the toast pass. 
Drink to the Class, — 
Her glory shall be our excuse for the glass. 



33 




HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 

HORSEMAN rides througli the autumn 
night, 
(The grapes are heavy upon the 
vine,) — 
He searches the left, and he scans 
the right. 
And his eyes are keen in the cold moonlight, 
(For grapes devoured shall never make wine). 

There crouches a student among the leaves, 
(The grapes are purple upon the vine,) — 
But many a shadow the eye deceives, 
And the guard rides on in his quest for thieves, 
(And grapes devoured shall never make wine). 

Somebody crawls through the yielding fence, 

(The grapes are trembling upon the vine,) — 
His Faculty whiskers give evidence 
34 



HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 

Of unimpeacliable eminence, 

(But grapes devoured shall never make wine). 

There in the shadow the two have met, 
(The grapes are fewer upon the vine,) — 

The sudden start that one does n't forget. 

The recognition that 's sadder yet, 

(And grapes devoured shall never make wine). 

A clasp of hands in the hush of night, 

(The grapes are missing upon the vine,) — 
And somebody's lips are pledged so tight 
That to somebody else they need never recite, 
(And grapes devoured shall never make wine.) 



35 




THE PIONEERS. 

WEALTH of old tradition marks 
The other Universities, 
Stories of great men gone before, 

But no such things as these 
Could ever set our hearts aflame 
Like that first year 
That gave our glorious class its name 
Of Pioneer. 

The college world was all before 

Us where to choose our place of rest. 
And Sophomore stock was low, and lived 

By sufferance at best; 
The other yells died out with shame 

When "Zah! Zah! Zeer!" 
Made all the echoing Quad proclaim 
The Pioneer. 

3^ 



THE PIONEERS. 

Then, with our war-paint we profaned 

The dignity of ancient trees, 
And with our magic numeral awed 

The aborigines; 
In sundry ways we let them know 

"We were right here, 
And just what deference they must show 
The Pioneer. 

'Twas then that in Encina Hall 

The Eoble maidens ate, 
And we, though Freshman hunger gnawed 

At us, were glad to wait; 
For as they passed along the hall 

The fact was clear 
Each maiden had among us all 
Her Pioneer. 

We Ve watched three other classes through 
Their Freshman years since we were 
there, 

37 



THE PIONEERS. 

But somehow everything since then 

Has worn a different air; 
No other days could be the same, 

None half so dear 
As those that gave our class its name 

Of Pioneer! 



38 



"TKE HEAVENS ARE TELLING." 

I came over from Berkeley town, 
The sun in the west went slowly 

down, 
And all around, when the day 
was old, 
The waves were gaudy with blue and gold. 

The sun sank into the v/est away, 
The colors faded from ofl the bay; 
The waves grew dark, but overhead 
The whole sky gloried in Stanford red! 




39 




A HERO. 

UT into the mud and tlie wet he goes, 
My hero, tall and strong; 
Under his jersey the muscle shows, 
And, Samson-like, his dark hair grows 
Delightfully thick and long. 



Out from his feet the black mud flies. 

His jacket is far from white; 
Bother these boys with their dapper ties! 
Who come and compel me to turn my eyes 

Away from a nobler sight. 

The hills are red with the western sun. 

The twilight comes like a dream; 
But until the practice work is done 
I strain my eyes for his every run, 

And I know he will make the team! 



40 



A HERO. 

I envy the fellow who keeps his cap, 

With so little appreciation, 
While I stroll back with a soft-tongued chap 
Whose muscles I know are n't worth a rap, 

And whose hair is an imitation. 



41 




MIZPAH. 

NvER tlie liills and far away, 
J] With, marvelous muscles and 
wonderful hair, 
The team has stolen for secret 
play 
Over the hills and far away. 

And only themselves know where. 

Out on the oval a silence reigns, 

The stealing shadows are all alone; 
Somewhere else each champion trains. 
And all unwatched his muscle strains 
In some retreat unknown. 

And we, who can only watch and cheer 

At nightly practice, must wait and dream 
Of that mighty day that draws so near, 
And, hovering still between hope and fear. 
Bet on our vanished team. 
42 



MIZPAH. 



But wlien they come (ah! the days are few), 

The Haight-street campers shall yield the day. 
And the vanquished wearers of gold and blue 
Shall fold their tents, as the Arabs do. 
And silently steal away. 



43 



A THANKSGIVING TOAST. 

a^ NE of the team for the whole four years; 
Ah, what a record that! 
Strongest and best of the Pioneers, 

Fill me a glass to "Phat." 
Drink with me to his health again; 
This is no toast to sip; 
Here 's to the captain whose loyal men 
Saved us the championship! 

Ninety-five, this is our triumph hour, 

Never again to be; 
But when at length our boasted power 

Fades into memory, 
Still in the hearts of us all shall live 

He whom to-day we cheer, — 
Downing! the darling of Ninety-five, 

Captain and Pioneer. 



44 



TO WALTEK CAMP. 

ooD-BY, until we meet again, 

Thrice - honored friend from 
Mother Yale! 
Under whose stirring generalship 
No team can ever fail. 
We keep the hope that you will guide 
Our course thro' many another fall; 
Good-by! take with you on your way 
The blessing of us all. 




45 




A. QUESTION OF COLOE. 

AiDEN dear, your eyes are blue, 

The glint of gold is in all your 
hair; 
But never may I to those colors 
two 
Be loyal, although I must own them fair. 
Still, beauty, though it bloom like yours, 

Is only transient after all; 
Virtues are strong while love endures, 
And they in you are cardinal! 



46 




A SONG IN SEASON. 

the rain! 

The buttercups overflow, 
And out on the hill again 

The yellow violets grow. 



Oh^ the rain! 

And the loving mud to pass! 
The 'bus waits long for the train, 

And the prof is late to his class. 

Oh, the rain! 

When the bamboo bends to the rim, 
And a girl and a hurricane 

Are waging a battle grim. 

Oh, the rain! 

At the last sweet bell defied, 
With one umbrella for twain. 

And a sidewalk two planks wide. 

47 



GUTER ALTER WEIN.' 




HEN, as a Freshman, I began 

To try the German speech, 
I studied with a learned man 
Who knew the way to teach, 
^ And, being an American, 

Was not beyond my reach. 



He used continually the phrase, 

"Guter alter Wein," 
In showing me the devious ways 

That adjectives decline; 
I wondered, in those guileless days. 

Why he so liked the line. 



Ah, days of pastimes innocent I 
The other sports that are! 

When my allowance never went 
Over the Mayfield bar, 
48 



Nor in my months' accounts I sent 
Such wash-bills home to Pa; 

Ere our vocabularies grew 

Until I could divine 
The meaning hid to earlier view 

In "guter alter Wein"; 
Until ''studieren," "schlaffen," too, 

Were words not found in mine. 

Unlearned the lesson of the lights, 
To go out at half-past ten, 

And never know the time o' nights 
That I got in again; 

I never failed to count the flights 
Of stairs correctly, then. 

A Soph to-day, and wiser grown 

Along another line 
Than German, my first year has shown 

The teacher's method fine; 
There is no tongue-inspirer known 

Like "guter alter Wein"! 

49 




DRINKING SONG. 

(WRITTEN TO MUSIC.) 

WE 'll go down the road to the Lit- 
tle Vendome 
When the stars are shining 
bright, 
And we '11 fill up our glasses 
and never go home 
Through all the livelong night; 
We '11 drink, drink, drink, with laughter 

free, 
A toast to our University. 

But the night must pass, 

And there comes, alas! 
A dark-brown taste in the morning; 
O fill up your glasses — don't be a dig! — 

Who cares a fig 

If his head is big? 

50 



DRINKING SONG. 

And what care we so long as we drink till 
tlie dawning ? 

But next day in recitation 

Oil! how hard to keep awake; 
Raging thirst without cessation, 

All one grand headache ! 
Ah! ha, ha, ha, ha! 
What though sadly we may suffer, 

What though suspicious be our looks. 
Every student is a bluffer, — 

We will sleep behind our books. 

Come then, drink, with laughter free. 

Drink to the University ! 

All too swiftly each year passes. 

College life is wondrous fair — 
Up then, boys, and fill your glasses. 

Drink to the days that know no care. 

Then fill up the glass to the sparkling brim 
And drink until we fall; 

51 



DRINKING SONG. 

Whoever can drink it we 've welcome for him 

Beneath the redwood tall; 
We'll drink, drink, drink, with laughter free, 
Beneath the stately Palo Alto tree. 

Though the night must pass, 

And there comes, alas! 
A world of woe in the morning. 
We '11 fill up our glasses — the man 's a dig 

Who cares a fig 

If his head is big, — 
So what care we so long as we drink till the 
dawning ? 



52 




FALSE LIGHTS. 

HAVE a little attic room 

That looks upon the Eow, 

My head professor's clover lavrn 
Grows grudgingly below, 

And he can watch my study-lamp 
Until to bed I go. 

So with incentive such as this 

I trim my studious light, 
And far into the short-wicked hours 

My window-square is bright, 
And my professor knows he need 

Not ask me to recite. 

Then sweetly let my beacon burn. 

And my professor smile, 
Although between my light and me 

There lies a darkened mile; 
My signal-lamp is trimmed, and I 

In Mayfield all the while! 
53 




MY LITTLE MAYFIELD GIRL. 

(WEITTEN TO MUSIC.) 

osT every one loves a co-ed — 

Some fellows love two or three, — 
But among all tlie girls on tlie 
campus 
There is n't one in it with me, 
For 'way down the road by the Brewery 

Lives one who sets me in a whirl, 
While helping her Ma make tamales, — 
My little Mayfield girl. 

My pearl is a Mayfield girl, 

She 's all the world to me; 
She 's in it with, any of the girls on 
the Quad, 
Though swagger and swell they be; 
At Dornberger's Hall, oh, she kills 
them all. 
As waltzing together we twirl, 

54 



MY LITTLE MAYFIELD GIRL. 

No co-ed is in it with her for a 
minute, — 
My little Mayfield girl. 

She never comes up to the classes, 

Or lectures or chapel at all, 
But when there 's a fifty-cent party 

I meet her at Dornberger's Hall; 
Then I move in the Mayfield "400" 

And round in the lancers we whirl, — 
I wonder she never gets dizzy, 

My little Mayfield girl! 

My pearl is a Mayfield girl. 

None is so sweet as she; 
Fred is forgotten, and Patsy, as well, — 

She makes the town for me; 
Then let all the rest of the boys go west, 

Where Eoble sets young heads awhirl, 
But the shrine where I 'm priest lies away 
to the east 

With my little Mayfield girl. 

55 




AT MAYFIELD. 

|RossiNG the bar I watcli my treasure 
go; 
Let no repentant thought this 
parting mar, 
Though 'tis my month's allowance leaves 
me so, 
Crossing the bar; 

All memory of debt be banished far 

From this leave-taking ; one more glass, 
I know, 
Will prove a Lethe for the griefs that are, 

And in this numbing flood I put below 
I '11 drown the thought of my providing 
Pa 
Who 'd raise all Hades could he see my 
dough 
Crossing the bar! 
56 



KELAPSE. 

STUDY Evolution, 

And hear the teacher tell 
How we have all developed 

From an isolated cell ; 



And in the examination 

Some fellows make it plain 

Their principles will bring them 
To the starting-point again. 




57 




AFTEKWAED. 

'vE left college and you 're still there, 
Spending money while I am 
saving. 
But once in a while we two meet 
where 
The steps lead dow^n from the city paving, 
And there we talk of the life each knows, 

The sun and wind of the college weather; 
We three friends, while the evening goes. 
You and Pilsner and I together. 

Pilsner 's a jolly, congenial chap, 

Surnamed Schlitz, and found wherever 
They keep the best of this world on tap, — 

Sparkling always, unpleasant never; 
And what if he really crossed the sea. 

Or is native-born, who cares a feather, 
So long as he makes our number three. 

You and Pilsner and I together? 

58 



AFTERWAKD. 

I went out into life last May, 

Only a space, but it seems much longer, — 
Change comes quick when one goes away, 

Pleasures weaken and cares grow stronger; 
And so, when chatting again are we, 

I doubt a little and wonder whether 
This means to you what it does to me, — 

You and Pilsner and I together. 



59 




THE PRESIDENT. 

HEN our grandfathers visited 

Our fathers, then at college, 
Of course the youngsters did 
the grand 
And aired their campus knowledge; 
But when they passed the college head 

They drew no recognition, 
And merely said in thoughtless awe: 
"The prexy, — big position." 



Now, when our fathers visit us 

And through the Quad we 're straying, 
We meet a robust man who bows 

And leaves us proudly saying : 
"The Doc, — dead right in all he does, 

Science, baseball or poem; 
The greatest, grandest man we know, 

And best of all, we know him!" 




BAEBAEA'S LULLABY. 

ULLABY, 

The niglit is nigh, 
Low and slow the herons fly; 
Sleep and rest, 
In the west 
All the sunset fires die. 

Down canyons steep 

The white fogs creep 
And blanket all the pine-trees deep; 

Through the grass 

"Wind-songs pass 
While the night-capped poppies sleep. 

Hush thee, dear! 

The dark is near, 
All the oak-trees disappear; 

Dim bats fly, — 

Then lullaby. 
The red lights blossom, — the night is here. 
61 




TEIBUTE. 

HREE cheers for Dole, and give 
them with a tiger, boys, — 
Clear across the campus let the 
loyal echoes roll 
Till our exultation thrills 
All the redwood-crested hills 
And the waves beyond the marshes know 
the name of Charlie Dole ! 

One song for him, and sing with all your 
voices, boys, — 
While arm on shoulder through the 
twilight Quad we stroll. 
And the circled palms shall bend 
And do homage to our friend, 
And the nestling swallows quiver at the 
fame of Charlie Dole! 



TRIBUTE. 

One glass to him, and let us drink it 
standing, boys, — 
When in Hall or chapter-house we brew 
the friendly bowl, 
Or when in Mayfield town 
In a circle we sit down. 
We will toast in style historic all the deeds 
of Charlie Dole! 

Then gather round and give him student 
tribute, boys, — 
Cheer him, sing him, drink him down 
with every heart and soul; 
For the man who does his best 
Is the idol of the rest 
And the pride and pet of Stanford, — so 
here 's to you, Charlie Dole ! 



63 




A FEIEND IN NEED. 

OME hither, little Freshman, 

And sit upon my knee. 
And let me give you pointers on 

The University — 
Some friendly words of warning, 
To guide you in a land 
Whose ways are full of mystery 
And hard to understand. 

No doubt the different teachers 

In whose kind care you prepped 
Have told you many a fairy tale 

Which you as truth have keptj-— 
How college-life means struggle 

For intellectual ends, — 
Vain theories, as you soon will find, 

Since you and I are friends. 



64 



A FRIEND IN NEED. 

My boy, the world is moving, 

The old ideas outgrown, 
And we must leave such ancient souls 

To fossilize alone. 
Our battle with the brain is 

By no means what you dream; 
The hardest thing you '11 have to do 

Will be to make the team. 

Study your head professor 

More than the books you buy; 
The proper study of mankind 

Is man, you know, — so try. 
Fathom his favorite hobby, 

Some hidden crank unearth, — 
Whether it 's books or babies, just 

Work it for all it 's worth. 

When suddenly you find you 're 

Encompassed round about 
By men of whose affection deep 

You hardly dare to doubt, 

65 



A FRIEND IN NEED. 

"Whose grasp, so firm and cordial, 
Pulls you this way and that, 

Be not puffed up, but recognize 
The mystic signs of "Frat." 

The girls who wait in ambush 

Along these cloistered ways — 
Fear not, they will not care to frown 

Upon your Freshman days; 
Take them on walks, to lectures, 

(When these are free, I mean), 
And when the annual hops come round 

Then get a city queen. 

One's Freshman year, young fellow, 

Is all too short and sweet; 
To him we yield one precious boon, — 

The privilege to treat. 
He may indulge in beer-feeds 

Uncriticised, although 
There should be upper-classmen there. 

To give it tone, you know. 

66 



A FRIEND IN NEED. 

Oh, by tlie way, my money 

TMs month has been delayed; 
You have n't got a V to spare 

Me, have you, till I 'm paid ? 
Ah, thanks! don't lend too often. 

It 's lucky you 've got me. 
Old man, to give you pointers on 

The University. 



67 



THE SECKET OF TWO. 




E came to tlie Quad in a sweater, 
The dude of Encina Hall; 

The rest of us wondered whether 
The skies were about to fall; 

For the whole crowd put together. 
In dressing, he beat us all. 

Oh, the look on his love as he met her, 
The gaze of the prof in class! 

Transformed was the youth aesthetic, — 
What wonder had come to pass? 

Was he going to turn athletic, 

This priest of the Flat-iron and Glass? 

But one in the crowd knew better. 
One soul, unconsulted and still. 

Who held in his grim possession 
A brown paper bundle, until 

This gem of aesthetic expression 
Should pay up his laundry bill. 




A SONG FOE HILDA. 

HERE the sunshine warm is sleeping 
When the noon is still, 
J See the baby-blue-eyes peeping 
From the grassy hill. 
All day long the great Sun passes 

Through the sky above; 
Baby-blue-eyes from the grasses 
Smile at him they love. 

When the drowsy Sun is sinking 

Deep into the west, 
See the baby-blue-eyes blinking, — 

It is time for rest; 
And the Lady Moon when beaming 

On the darkened hill, 
Finds the baby-blue-eyes dreaming 

Of the sunlight still. 



69 




THE PROF'S LITTLE GIRL. 

HE comes to the Quad when her 
Ladyship pleases, 
And loiters at will in the sun 
and the shade; 
As free from the burden of work 
as the breezes 
That play with the bamboo is this little maid. 
The tongues of the bells as they beat out the 
morning 
Like mad in their echoing cases may whirl 
Till they weary of calling her, — all their sharp 
warning 
Is lost on the ear of the prof's little girl. 

With a scarred-over heart that is old in the knowl- 
edge 
Of all the maneuvers and snares of the Hall, 
Grown wary of traps in its four years at college, 
And able at last to keep clear of them all, — 
70 



THE PROF S LITTLE GIKL. 

Oh, what am I doing away from my classes 

With a little blue eye and a brown little curl? 

Ah me ! fast again, and each precious hour passes 
In slavery sweet to the prof's little girl. 

She makes me a horse, and I mind her direction. 

Though it takes me o'er many a Faculty green; 
I 'm pledged to the cause of her pussy's protection 

From ghouls of the Lab and the horrors they 
mean; 
I pose as the sire of a draggled rag dolly 

Who owns the astonishing title of Pearl; — 
And I have forgotten that all this is folly. 

So potent the charm of the prof's little girl! 

Yet, spite of each sacrifice made to impress her. 

She smiles on my rival. Oh, vengeance I 'd gain ! 
But he wears the same name as my major professor, 

And so in his graces I have to remain; 
And when she trots off with this juvenile lover, 

Leaving me and the cat and the doll in a whirl, 
It 's pitiful truly for us to discover 

The signs of her sex in the prof's little girl. 
71 




OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES. 

'vE heard in the noisy city 

When the football game was done 
The Stanford cry exultant 
While blood-red set the sun ; 
I've been in the dim Quadrangle 

When the moonlit palms were still 
And listened the college slogan 

With an answering loyal thrill ; 
But I heard it to-day with a feeling 

I find it hard to tell, — 
Three little faculty children 
Giving the dear old yell! 

Thin and high were their voices, 

A childish treble sweet, 
Lost, like a bird-song, barely 

Four houses down the street: 



72 



OUT OF THE "MOUTHS OF BABES. 

Hardly a far, faint echo 

Of our mighty jubilee 
When the Alma Mater wakened 

To perpetuity; 
And some might have smiled to hear it, 

But I stood as under a spell, — 
Three little faculty children 

Giving the Stanford yell! 

For I saw in a noontide vision 

The future of things begun, 
The acres of sandstone shining 

In the Palo Alto sun. 
And the towering tree uplifting 

Its cardinal crown on high, 
When we should have passed and scattered. 

Traditions at best, you and I; 
And these should inherit the triumph, 

In the glorious days to dwell, — 
These little faculty children 

Giving the dear old yell! 



73 




THE LAST GOOD -BY. 

HE music is huslied in the night, boy. 
The crowds from the booths are 
gone, 
The moon on the canvas is white, 
boy. 

We stand in the Quad alone; 
The lanterns that pointed the eaves, boy, 

Catch fire, blaze a moment, and die. 
For it 's now that the Pioneer leaves, boy, — 
He has come to his last good-by. 

I welcomed the fairy-like change, boy, 

For somehow it made me feel 
Relieved that the place should seem strange, boy, — 

The heartache was all too real. 
For a man cannot help feeling shame, boy, 

And yet I 'd have had to cry 
If the old Quad had looked just the same, boy. 

When it came to the last good-bj^ 
74 



THE LAST GOOD-BY. 

I told her good-night at the hall, boy, 

Where often I've said it before; 
We knew 't was the end of it all, boy, 

The old walks would know us no more; 
And still, though I '11 never forget, boy. 

That soft little parting sigh, 
I knew in my heart that not yet, boy, 

Came the worst of this last good-by. 

The girls are all right in their place, boy, 

And doubtless we both of us show 
The power of a feminine grace, boy. 

That has bettered us both, we know; 
But after these four glad years, boy, 

What co-ed attachment can vie 
With the love of us two Pioneers, boy. 

In the Quad for our last good-by? 

The fun and the folly of youth, boy; 

We have shared to the full, we two, — 
The thirst of the heart after truth, boy, 

I have felt it and followed, with you; 

75 



THE LAST GOOD-BY. 

And now the companionship ends, boy, 

The manifold meanings that lie 
In the depths of the words, "college friends," boy, 

Make holy this last good-by. 

To-morrow we go to the Gym, boy, 

And then we are done with it all; 
I '11 warrant the place will be dim, boy, 

When we 've answered that last roll-call. 
Then, here, with our hands gripped tight, boy, 

In the dear old Quad, you and I, 
Let us tell it together, "Good-night," boy, 

God bless it forever, — Good-by! 



THE SOBER SIDE, 



IN MEMORY OF EICHARD ALBRECHT. 




ND when you fell asleep, they said 
The good die young. Dear college 
friend ! 
We who are left have sometime read 

A sweet philosophy, that is to lend 
Us comfort now that you are dead. 

Life is a sleep, the poets say, 

A slow forgetting of the light 
Shining from home upon our way; 

Ah, happy one, ere you had lost it quite, 
God woke you, saying, "It is Day!" 



79 




KEUNION. 

HE sun is warm upon tlie palms, 
The stately bamboos nod 
As though they felt the freshened life 

That stirs within the Quad, 
This happy time of meeting, when 
We greet so joyously 
The voices that we hear again, 
The faces that we see. 

But while this gladness fills the air 

A shadow steals our way. 
Darkens the shining green and dims 

The brightness of the day; 
The fellowship that cheered us then 

And now no more may be, 
The hand we may not clasp again, 

The face we may not see. 



80 



REUNION. 

Some day, perhaps, a sun may shine 

Where shadow is not known, 
Where no such hungry thought as haunts 

To-day this echoing stone 
Shall ever sadden meeting when 

We keep, eternally. 
The voices that we hear again. 

The faces that we see. 



81 




IN GEOLOGY HOUR. 

g^^^HERE was an ancient wingless bird 

Who, when some dateless flood 

ijj Had covered half the stripling earth 

Y^ith tertiary mud, 
Went wading through his oozy world 

And questioned with a cry 
Between his labor purposeless 

And his desire to die. 

Yet never knowing why or how 

He plodded on until 
Within the mud's encasing hold 

His wading legs were still; 
He died with weary gaze upon 

The waste that stretched ahead 
Nor dreamed his useless tracks behind 

Should last though he were dead. 



IN GEOLOGY HOUR. 

The eons passed; above his head. 

As he lay buried there, 
They piled the never-lasting hills, 

They laid it almost bare, 
Until one day above the place 

An eager scholar bent 
And found an added link to tell 

A v^orld's development. 

We who are lame with wading through 

The mud of circumstance 
Are not the judges of the end, 

The unrevealed Perchance; 
For dull though our horizon lie, 

It may not hold the less 
What store of service yet to be, 

What hope of usefulness! 



83 




IN MEMORY OF LOUIS DONALD McLAINE. 

WATCHED with one who heard, as in 
in a dream. 
The surging of far waters grow 
apace; 
The mist that rises from the nearer 
brink 

Settled in chilly damp upon his face; 
There came a gentle color to the sky, 

I saw the stars melt into morning air, — 
A little yet he knew my ministry, 

And then the river crept between us there. 

When I had closed his eyes, a wonder came; 

Another watcher bent above the place 
Of my dead friend; dark, terrible, the shape 

Bent over him, I could not see its face; 
And then it turned to me; all heaven shown 
From that calm brow, those eyes serenely 
clear, 

84 



IN MEMORY OF LOUIS DONALD McLAINE. 

Death left me with the body there alone, 
And witness me, I have not shed one tear. 



One year ago this time he went away, — 

One year of struggle, ended in the spring; 
Not all the shadow of our loss can hide 

The promise sweet that speaks in every thing; 
Out of the underworld of clinging earth 

Freed nature finds the light. We may not weep 
Aloud for him; this season of new birth 

Hushes the murmur of our grief to sleep 




COMPENSATION. 

HE Mariposa lilies grow 

On Pilot Peak, all white and fair, 
As tliough by some mistake the snow 
In summer-time had fallen there; 
And close above this flower-snow, 

A wonder out of azure skies, 
Falling and resting lightly, lo, 
A flurry of white butterflies ! 

Each lily hears a butterfly : 

"Ah, daughter of the earth and sun. 
My sight is dazzled by the dye 

Upon your wings, you splendid One ; 
What are my pallid wings to me 

While you stand here in royal pride, — 
Two only have I — you have three. 
And all the rainbow gift beside!" 



COMPENSATION. 

"Light spirit of the npper skies. 

Envy me not; you do not know 
What heavy meaning underlies 

The radiant dress you covet so ; 
What are my painted wings to me! 

Never with life my petals thrill, 
I cannot rise like you and be 

One of the blest that move at will. 

"Sometimes I hear the false wind pass 

And whisper : ' If you would but try 
You need not keep here in the grass 

But with my helping learn to fly ' ; 
And when, beguiled, I fancy power 

Is in my wings, he cries in mirth : 
*Have you forgotten, foolish flower. 

Your feet are buried in the earth? ' 

"Sail on your sweet, untrameled way, 
Your wings are free though jeweled not, 

Leave me in empty pomp to stay 
Eootbound forever in one spot." 

87 




LELAND STANFORD. 

WEET rest to thee and thine, 
illustrious head. 
Sweet rest and deep, 
Where we have laid thee, 
after all is said, 
In granite-guarded sleep; 
With that stern silence of long ages dead, 
The sphinxes vigil keep. 

Not yet, strong heart, into that hush of etone 

Comes perfect peace; 
Still waiting stands the third place open thrown, 

Unrest can only cease 
When from the sorrow she endures alone 

One other finds release. 

Sweet rest to thee and thine; in calm content 
Sleep quietly ; 



LELAND STANFOED. 

More than a granite tomb the momiment 
That ever stands to thee, 

The gratitude of our great continent 
Thine immortality. 



89 




TO MRS. STANFORD. 

^^^HE child of California 

Shall be our child," they said, 
Bent in the heavy shadow where 
Their dearest hope lay dead ; 
"Henceforward shall our tenderness 

Encompass, by God's grace, 
The lives of those we make our own 
To cherish in his place." 

They made a cradle wondrously, 

Mid flowers and sunlight sweet, 
They brought the treasures of the world 

About their children's feet; 
But when this labor of their love 

Was but begun, at best, 
God, leaning from his heaven, called 

The father to his rest. 



90 



TO MRS. STANFORD. 

We reverence his niemory, — 

The power of his name 
Is in our loyal hearts to-day, 

The impulse of his fame; 
But ah, how can her children's love 

Be adequately shown 
The mother-heart that folded us 

And fought for us, alone! 

Gray mother of our fostered youth. 

Some day, through clearer air, 
Your eyes shall search our souls and read 

What you have written there ; 
Take now the comfort of our love 

Till that rich guerdon when 
The God you bring us nearer to 

Gives you your own again. 



91 




COMPANY K, 1st CAL., U. S. V. 

BOVE their white Presidio tents 
Through weeks of dreary weather 
They flung the gleaming stars and 
stripes 
And cardinal together, 
And clear above the growing din 
And stir of camp commotion 
They sent the sound of our old yell 
Out-ringing to the ocean. 

"While others in the sunlit Quad 

Stood with their friends around them, 
And pledged alumnus fealty to 

The common love that bound them, — 
These tramped it to the waiting ships 

To face what lay before them, 
The Stanford yell was on their lips, 

The Stanford colors o'er them. 



92 



CO. K, 1st cal., u, s. v. 

For some Encina shone witli flowers 

And buoyant music thrilled them, 
Commencement flattery made sweet 

The parting grief that filled them, — 
These crowded down between the decks 

Of that cramped first flotilla, 
Behind them love and home, ahead 

The menace of Manila. 

You went before Commencement Week 

To drudgery unceasing. 
To dangers of disease and war 

With every day increasing ; 
God give you safely home again 

From your far-off endeavor, — 
Your grim Commencement lies engraved 

In Stanford hearts forever! 



93 




AT NAGASAKI. 

HE great black sMps fade out to sea; 
In loneliness I know 
How little time tliey lie, — all me, 
How soon tliey go I 
And wliat a world of waves tliey span, 
America no heitai san ! 

Jinrickslia men are in the street, 

Their calling makes me start 
Only to hear their native feet 

With sinking heart ; 
To what sweet purpose once they ran, 
lihito American ' 

Out where the silent rice-field lies 

The sad crane watches long, 
My samisen accompanies 

A listless song, 

94 



AT NAGASAKI. 

The life is gone from foot and fan, 
Toku hanareta heitai san ! 

Plum-blossoms spend their fragrant breath 

Upon a vacant air, 
The wan moon has a face like death 

That once was fair, 
Dull weariness fills all Japan, — 
Oh hayaku, American, 
Heitai itoshiij tomasu san! 



95 




GOD'S ACRE. 

H, SO pure the white syringas ! 
Oh, so sweet the lilac bloom 
In the Arboretum growing 

Near a granite tomb! 
By the arching pepper-branches 
Let us tender silence keep; 
We have come into God's Acre 
Where the children sleep. 

In the trees the quail are calling 

To the rabbits at their play. 
While the little birds, unknowing, 

Sing their lives away; 
In the night-time through the branches 

Wistfully the young stars peep, 
But, with all these playmates round them. 

Still the children sleep. 



GOD S ACRE. 



Once within that leafy shelter 

Some one hid herself, to rest. 
With another little dreamer 

Folded to her breast; 
And a sense of consolation 

Stealeth unto them that weep, 
While that mother-heart lies sleeping 

Where the children sleep. 

Year by year the Christmas berries 

Eedden in the quiet air, — 
Tear by year the vineyard changes, 

Buds and ripens there; 
We give place to other faces, 

But the years' relentless sweep 
Cometh not into God's Acre 

Where the children sleep. 



97 




A MEMOKY. 

fCTOBER fullness in field and flowers, 
Tlie ebbing tide of tbe summer 
time 
In mellow music of days and hours 
That beat in rhythm and blend in rhyme ; 
Leaves that tremble before their turning, 
The green that fades and the gold that 
grows, 
A stifled brook, and a throb of yearning 
In all that changes for all that goes! 



98 



IN JOSHING MOOD. 



Unfa 




BEWARE! 

KNOW a prof, not much to see, — 

Take care! 
Mistakes are niade here frequently, - 

Beware ! 
Bluff him not, he is watching thee! 

He seems in awe of you and me, — 

Take care! 
He is not what he seems to be, — 

Beware ! 
Bluff him not, he is on to thee! 

He seems the age of you or me, — 

Take care! 
He is the Boss of English B, 

Beware ! 
Bluff him not, he '11 be flunking thee! 



101 




THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 

OME, gather round, ye merry men 

Who live within the Hall; 
The feast is done, the door is shut. 

Then gather, gentles all, 
And hearken to a tale of six, 
And what did them befall. 

Now, Sir Adolphus was a Knight 

Of mickle might to see; 
He hailed from off the frozen shore 

Of Northern Germany; 
And no one in the brazen band 

Was half so bold as he. 

His fists were iron-clad in strength; 

His arms were made of brawn; 
Along Encina's reverent halls 

He walked with splendid scorn, 
And blew his own horn valiantly 

From eve to dewy morn. 

102 




THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 

Then up rose wily Billinoles 

And listened to the strain; 
The sound of Sir Adolphus* horn 
Gave him a subtle 
pain, 
He vowed unto his 
patron saint 
It should not blow again. 

He hied him up the winding stair, 

Up to the eastern tower, 
Where dwelt the doughty warrior, Milt, 

A knight of dreaded power, 
Whose fists to many a reckless foe 

Had brought his passing hour. 

Sir Milt reclined within his hall. 

His pipe was in his hand; 
He filled it from a casket near 

That bore the "Old Bull" brand. 
The dust upon his books was deep; 

(You yoemen understand). 
103 



THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 

The wily Billinoles stepped in 
And softly locked the door; 

With hellish art he argued there, — 
Ten minutes 'twas or more, — 

Until Sir Milt was pledged to wade 
In Sir Adolphus' gore. 

Then up rose Billinoles again 

And hied him forth in 
glee; 
Adown the hall he sped as 
though 
(f Upon the track was he; 
' The baleful light within his 
eyes 
"Was dreadful for to see. 

"Now, Sir Adolphus, hark ye well, 

Encina's bravest knight; 
The bold Sir Milt has challenged thee 

To meet in bloody fight. 

104 




THE BALLAD OP WOODSIDE FIELD. 

Up, then, and battle for thy fame, 
And Heaven defend the right ! " 

The Lord Gambrinus swore an oath: 
"By Adderson," quoth he, 

" And every other evil power 
That blasts the land or sea, 

I '11 make this upstart bite the dust 
Ere he be done with me! 

*'Go get thee to the Earl of Jeff; 

Borrow a glove or two 
And cast them at the feet of Milt, 

My high defiance, too, — 
Or may all Koble cease to smile 

At me, as now they do ! " 

Oh, who can tell from words alone 
What lieth in the heart? 

No sooner did the gleeful Bill 
Upon his way depart. 

Than Sir Adolphus showed himself 
A man of boundless art. 
105 



THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 

Up to Sir Milt he made his way 

And pressed a novel suit, 
Which was that they should pull the leg 

Of Billinoles so cute, 
And give to him through all the world 

The lasting name of "Fruit." 

Bright dawned the day on Woodside town; 

The lists they were prepared; 
The swelling muscles of the knights 

Were to the sunlight bared. 
Now listen, merry men, and hear 

Of how the heroes fared. 

Sly Billinoles was there, and Vann, 

And a Scot of equal worth. 
They turned away their evil eyes 

To hide their godless mirth; 
(But Heaven took away from them 

Their mortgage on the earth). 

Now would they brook no more delay, 
But bade the foemen stand. 
106 



THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 

Tiiey rubbed them down and faced them there 

Upon the good green land; 
But both Adolphus and Sir Milt 

Showed woeful lack of sand. 

Nor this nor that had been arranged 

As they would have it done; 
Each hemmed and hawed, and so delayed 

To meet the other one, 
Till Vann and Billinoles were tired 

And sweating in the sun. 

But now at last they take their stand 

Within the oft-changed lists; 
Up in the glad spring air they raise 

Their murder-dealing fists,— 
When suddenly there comes a cry, 

And every one desists. 

A cloud of dust, a frantic form 

Coming at breakneck speed. 
Whose lightning rate the watchers know 

Bespeaks an urgent need: 
107 



THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 



It is tlie great Frazierius 
Upon bis iron steed! 




With gasping sides he wildly sioeaks: 
" For love of life, no more ! 

King David hath got on to this, 
And all your days are o'er, 

If on this day the Woodside green 
Be stained with student gore." 

This said, he fainted where he stood, 
And when in time brought to, 

The gathering of valiant men 
Discreetly then withdrew. 

108 



THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 

The plot had failed, and three of them 
Were indigo in hue. 

Down to the Redwood market-place 
They made a quick retreat; 

Where Billinoles did set them up 
With sundry things to eat, 

And all the dough that he could raise 
Was swallowed in the treat. 

Now, all ye merry men, who hear 

The story of this scrap, 
Remember oft the trapper falls 

Into his own sly trap: 
It is not always whom we fool, 

That later wear the chap. 



109 




PEESONA NON GEATA. 

E moves in tlie best of society circles, 
No sport on tlie campus more 
blooded than be, 
The spot that is given the closest 
attention 
Is always the one where he happens to 
be ; 
His presence can make a place swell in 
a moment, 
He 's generally sought after, — vainly by 
some, 
For many a co-ed has found him elusive 
Though sure that she had him 'twixt 
finger and thumb. 

To fraternity bodies, however exclusive, 
To Faculty parties the password he 
knows, 

110 



PERSONA NON GRATA. 

He enters a class and the prof grows 
uneasy, 
He makes a sensation wherever he goes ; 
He holds the world's record for long-dis- 
tance jumping, 
Yet the whole college hates him and 
wishes he 'd leave, 
He 's full, half the time, but he bluffs the 
Committee 
And laughs at the President, too, in 
his sleeve. 

For not all the learning of you or of me 
Can keep from the campus this curse of a 

Flea! 



Ill 




IN THE COLD, COLD WOBLD. 

(WRITTEN TO MUSIC.) 

^^^v./j| E were jolly Pioneers 

Not so many moons ago, 
All the joys of Mayfield evenings 

We were said to fully know; 
But there came a day for leaving, 
And the great world lay before, 
So we packed our little schoolbooks, 
And we '11 use them never more. 
In the cold, cold world. 
Ah, goodby to youthful follies. 
All those lazy days are o'er; 
Bumming now must have cessation, 
Eor just after graduation 
Comes a painful revelation 

In the cold, cold world! 

In those happy days we labored 
When we pleased, or not at all, 
112 



IN THE COLD, COLD WORLD, 

And we made a great impression 

On the world, — at Koble Hall. 
Now we get a cold reception 

From tlie world we thought to win,- 
When we ring her iron door-bell, 

We can never find her in. 
In the cold, cold w^orld. 
Things are very, very different, 

It is not the dear old Quad; 
There the palm-trees gently rustle, 
But outside it 's noise and bustle, 
And it 's we who have to rustle 
In the cold, cold world ! 



113' 




AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

HEN back into the Quad I came 
In my alumniisship, 
It did not wholly seem the same; 

The old companionship 
Was missing, and I longed to hear 
Familiar accents in my ear. 
To feel a well-known grip. 

The while I mourned this chilling change 

With trembling of the lip, 
I heard a voice no longer strange, 

I felt a well-known grip. 
And knew that Hodges' Dog was nigh, 
And that he had not passed me by 

In my alumnusship. 



114 



CO-EDUCATION. 




THE GRASSHOPPEES. 

^HEN all the Palo Alto liills 
Grow green beneath the feet 
of Spring, 
When meadow-larks' rich music 
thrills 
The crowding grass, and everything 
Is dreamy with enchanted days 

And April's exaltation, — 
Then sing, heigho for woodland ways, 
Heigho, co-education ! 

When Palo Alto hills have turned 
To lifeless yellow in the sun, 

When dying poppy-fires have burned 
The grass that Summer treads upon, — 

Still sing the meadow-larks, alone. 
Untouched by meditation. 

But oh, if we had only known, 
Alas, co-education! 

117 




DANGER ! 

HEY were strolling slow together 

Where the oak-leaves scattered lay; 
In the sky, with sunset burning, 
Floated many a flaming feather 
Fallen from the wings of day; 
And the eastern hills stood yearning 

For the daylight fled away, — 
Yearning for the vanished bright-time. 
Shivering, naked, in the night-time, 
Till the mist rose from the bay. 

In the quiet of the gloaming 

Slowly up the path they strayed, 

Sophomore and Roble maiden; 

Love, on vagrant pinions roaming 

Where the last long sunbeams played, 

Winged an arrow mischief-laden, — 
Wounded deeply man and maid; 

118 



DANGER ! 

And they wandered ever slower, 
While the sun sank low and lower, 
And the hills grew dim with shade. 

Ah, for them the days are over 

Which in earnest work were spent; 

Study must give place to dreaming, 

Student has been changed to lover, 
Cupid is omnipotent! 

Single-hearted ones, esteeming 
Logic more than sentiment. 

Oh, beware of woodland rambles ! 

Flowering paths have hidden brambles, 
Safer far is plain cement. 



119 



AT STUDY-TIME. 




T study-time tlie white lamp 
throws 
Its light on many a page 

sublime. 
Where many a master's im- 
age glows, 
At study time. 



Tet evermore, through prose or rhyme, 

One sweet thought buds and gently grows 
Full-flushed as roses in their prime. 

At length, unread my books I close, — 

Ah, let them go ! too sweet the crime 
To think on thee, forgetting those 
At study-time. 



120 




TWO WINDOWS. 

OPENED my window at sunset. 

And close to the sill I stood. 
In the shadowy grass each poppy 

Had put on a pointed hood, 
And over me far I saw the star 
That comes with the sleep of things; 
The last bird dreamed in her hidden nest, 
Yet I heard the sound of wings! 

I have watched the warm lights blossom, 

Like poppies that bloom at night; 
These have faded away in the darkness, 

And only the stars are bright; 
But I am still by the window-sill, 

Though all the day-world sleeps, 
For the distant lamp of a midnight witch 

Over the oak-tree peeps. 



121 



THE IDEAL CO-ED. 

(WKITTEN TO MUSIC.) 

kf^S^tStt^^lK^^ i^^^^ co-ed is a thing of books, 
A creature of brain entirely, 
With stooping shoulders and stu- 
"' h^i'^ttl^^^ dious looks, 

She digs all day and half the night; 
People say she is wondrous bright, 
But her figure 's an awful sight ! 
Her thoughts are deep in the classic past, 
She only thinks of A. B. at last; 

She has fled this world and its masculine charms, 
And a refuge found in Minerva's arms. 

Now, the kind of co-ed that I describe 

Is a co-ed seen very rarely; 
The real co-ed 's a thing of grace, 
With dainty figure and winsome face; 

She walks and rides, and she cuts, mon Dieu! 

122 



THE IDEAL CO-ED. 

But every professor lets her through; 
For her each year is a round of joy, 
A. B. means nothing if not "A Boy," 

And you and I must yield to her charms, 
And take the place of Minerva's arms. 



123 




STRATEGY. 

^^^OME, Cupid kills with arrows, 
Some, with traps;" 
But this spring the little rascal 

Found, perhaps. 
That he needed both to slay me; 
So he laid a cunning snare 
On the hillside, and he hid it 

In a lot of maidenhair; 
And I doubt not he is laughing 

At the joke, 
For he made his arrows out of 
Poison-oak. 



124 




METAMOKPHOSIS. 

.EAR maid, but yesterday 

You passed along a shaded way; 
Filled were your arms with, maiden- 
hair 

And poppies warm; against your face 
The light fern found a resting-place, 
But more than flower or fern I thought you fair. 

Ah! that was yesterday. 

Your window ledge is wondrous gay 
With green and gold; and you are there; 

But poison-oak upon your face 

Has found a second blooming-place, 
And flower and fern, dear maid, are far more fair. 



125 




IN THE SPIDER'S WEB. 

(written to music.) 
T was once upon a time, 
That the hero of this rhyme, 
Guileless Freshie, green as grass. 
Met an artful Senior lass. 
Oh, she smiled on him demurely, 
She had loved none other, surely, 
And her heart was his securely, — 
Poor little maid! 

For she had never seen the mau- 
soleum, 
By the stock-farm she had never 
strayed. 
She had never seen the Quad by 
moonlight, — 
Poor little Roble maid! 

So this Freshman lent his aid, 
Just to introduce the maid 
126 



IN THE SPIDER S WEB. 



To the beauties of the place, 
But she set him such a pace 
That he spent his monthly ration 
All in ice-cream dissipation, — 
Now he damns co-education 
And the Koble maid; 
For it was not quite true that 

She had never seen the mausoleum, 
Nor never near the stock-farm 
strayed; 
She knew each corner of the Quad 
by moonlight, — 
Sly little Koble maid! 



m 




EMANCIPATION. 

{The Basket-ball Girl speaks to an old portrait.) 

^Y Great-grandma Dorotliy, 

Just supposing you could see 
Down along tlie century- 
Out of your dim yesterday 
Into my to-day, I wonder 
What you'd think of me. 

So demurely sweet to see 

In your dainty dimity, — 

I am gowned but to the knee, 

And my hair hangs any way ; 
Could you see me now, I wonder 

How you 'd look at me. 

When you touched the spinet-key 
Some one listened lovingly, — 
I am playing hard, and he. 

From the side-lines, sees me play, 
128 



EMANCIPATION. 

If you heard him yell, I wonder 
What you 'd say to me. 

Ah, Great-grandma Dorothy, 
Those prim folded hands would be 
Quickly raised reprovingly, 

I can guess the things you 'd say,- 
But, in your heart's heart, I wonder 

What you 'd think of me ! 



129 



WABNING. 



*AiDENs, when near the museum. 
Hush your confidential love, 
Lest you teach a fatal habit 
IP To the statues up above; 
For reflect, what dreadful discord. 
Think, what awful anger-blasts 
Would be stirred up, if those statues 
Ever got to "trading lasts"! 




130 



FATE. 




TOOK my books the ottier day, 

And studied in tlie Quad, alone; 
But no professor passed that way, 
I was n't called on the next day, 
That work was never known. 



Up on the road beside the brook. 
One little hour we two beguiled; 

I never looked inside a book. 

But I met each prof whose work I took. 
And when I flunked, he smiled. 



131 



FOUR VALENTINES. 

o-MORKOW is the day for valentines; 
MWr-^r^y Kir/ Then let me leave my thesis for 
*^izj-g-[^J3ILl a space, 

■K^SrLJ^'^ Lower the lamplight on these 
weary lines, 
And dream a little in the shadowed place. 
In my three years at college, I have named 
My Valentine and kept the season thrice; 
The jolly saint himself is to be blamed 
If I have never had the same one twice. 

In Freshman days, with all about me strange. 

And home's sweet halo shining on my way. 
My heart had never known the sense of change, 

And one dear face was with me day by day; 
So, when the time was here, I wrote my verse 

And drew the heart and arrow up above. 
And, happy in the thought I might do worse, 

I sent it off to Mother with my love. 
132 



FOUR VALENTINES. 

When I had felt the thrill of Sophomore days, 

My thoughts were given to a dainty maid 
At college with me, and in woodland ways 

And quiet music-rooms my court I paid. 
But, with my Junior dignity, I chose 

My Queen abroad, within the city's glare, 
Forgot the violet for the gayer rose, 

And lost my heart and pocket-money there. 

Saint Valentine, those days were long ago; 

Your power is lost upon this penitent. 
For, with my Senior gravity, I know 

That life means more than your light sen- 
timent. 
And yet, this once your day shall have from me 

Some of the old observance, though I scoff; 
My thesis waits, — my Valentine shall be 

The old-maid sister of my major prof. 



133 




LOEELEI. 

E fareth in a joyous wise 

Where runs the road 'neath gentle 

skies ; — 
How should his canine heart sur- 
mise 
That where the red-roofed towers rise 

The blood is red upon the slab? 
His way is warm with sunlight yet, 
He knoweth not the sun must set; 
And he hath in the roadway met 
The Ladye of the Lab. 

How should he read her face aright? 
Upon her brow the hair is bright, 
Within her eyes a tender light, 
Her luring hands are lily-white, 

Tho' blood be red upon the slab; 
Her calling voice is siren-sweet, — - 
He crouches fawning at her feet,— - 
134 



LORELEI. 

(It is a fatal thing to meet 
The Ladye of the Lab!) 

And she hath ta'en him with a string 
To where the linnets never sing, 
Where stiff and still is everything, 
And there a heart lies quivering 

When blood is red upon the slab : 
O little dog that wandered free! 
And hath she done this thing to thee? 
How may she work her will with me, — 

The Ladye of the Lab! 



136 




Q. E. D. 

^^^^^::^HE wide sky above 
^PJ^^j Is like violets blue; 

Like the heavens on high 
Is my passion for you; 
Equating, as we 

May by axiom do, 
My passion for you 

Is like violets blue; 
And if we take Time 

And multiply through, 
As violets wither, 
So passion dies, too. 



136 



WHEN WE COME BACK NO MOEE. 

WONDER, when from summer sleep 

The old Quad wakes again, 
When calling bells their vigils keep 

And watch for us in vain, — 
Those bells on which we heaped, 
last year, 
Anathemas galore, 
But now are grown so strangely dear 
When we come back no more, — 




I wonder if among the leaves 

A voice will whisper low, 
A little dreaming voice that grieves 

Over the long ago; 
If new-filled places will forget 

Who loved them best before, 
Or stir a little with regret 

That we come back no more, 
137 



WHEN WE COME BACK NO MORE. 

When underneath the sacred shade 

Where shines our name to-day, 
With stranger steps the man and maid 

Of '99 shall stray, 
Will our old tree, bent down to hear 

The same things o'er and o'er. 
Forget this is not yester-year 

And we come back no more? 

Beyond the Palo Alto hills 

The days slip stealthily; 
The echo of their footsteps fills 

The Quad with memory; 
There where we made a painted boast. 

The chapel site before. 
Lies glimmering the twilight ghost 

Of what will come no more. 

We scatter down the four wide ways. 
Clasp hands and part, but keep 

The power of the golden days 
To lull our care asleep, 

138 



WHEN WE COME BACK NO MORE. 

And dream, while our new years we fill 
With sweetness from those four, 

That we are known and loved there still, 
Though we come back no more. 




JUN 11 1900 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

II , 

015 898 149 A * 



